‘That’s done!’ she exclaimed, resettling the cutlery in its velvet-lined box and closing the lid.
As she was returning it to the dresser, she heard someone rapping on the back door. Opening it she found Adam pointing round the side of the house.
‘There’s a lady,’ he told her.
‘A lady? What do you mean, dear?’
‘She’s sitting on the step. And she’s got bundles and things.’
‘On our step? Surely not!’
Only half believing him, Lydia followed him round the side of the house and saw Dolly Wickham on the bottom step, lolling against the door, fanning herself with her hand.
‘Mrs Wickham? I mean, Dolly. What brings you here?’ She reached out a hand, and Dolly grasped it gratefully and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. She was red-faced and breathless from the exertion of her long walk.
‘I’m sorry to bother you . . .’ she began, one hand clutching her side. ‘It’s further than I thought.’
Puzzled by her unexpected visitor, Lydia picked up her bags and helped her round the side of the house and into the kitchen, with Adam prancing along beside them. Once inside the kitchen she refilled the kettle and set it on the stove, and then led her visitor into the front room where they could rest and talk in comfort.
Adam rushed to fetch the kitten and show him off to their visitor, who made admiring noises.
Lydia said, ‘Find a little ball and play with Sooty, Adam. I have to talk to Mrs Wickham.’ Presumably, Dolly’s visit was something to do with the PSD, she thought, intrigued and suddenly hopeful.
For a few moments they discussed Dolly’s health and that of the unborn child, but as soon as they were sipping their tea, Dolly dropped her bombshell.
‘It’s my husband,’ she told Lydia. ‘He’s only skipped off and left me.’
‘Left you? But Dolly, you’ve only just been married!’ Lydia watched a series of emotions flit across Dolly’s face. ‘And the baby’s coming soon. Is he quite mad?’
Dolly blew on her tea and sipped it cautiously. ‘It gets worse,’ she offered.
‘How could it be any worse?’
‘The police are after him, saying he’s robbed a shop in London. Him and some other men. Three of them.’ She averted her eyes as she spoke.
So this was nothing to do with the PSD, thought Lydia, disappointed. She said, ‘And do you believe the police? It sounds quite extraordinary to me.’
‘And me! It sounds blooming ridiculous, but they’ve got the other two men, so they say, and they’ve blown the gaff on Don.’ Her voice shook a little, and she helped herself to another spoonful of sugar and stirred vigorously as if she felt the need for a little more energy. ‘So my husband is a thief, and he’s wanted by the police!’
Lydia watched her curiously. How on earth, she wondered, could Dolly sit there reciting this terrible story without bursting into tears? If she were in Dolly’s shoes she would be totally devastated and quite beyond comfort . . . Unless Dolly was making it all up as a way to elicit pity – and possibly a little cash! Was this alleged betrayal simply a scam? The idea was an unpleasant one, and Lydia thrust it to the back of her mind. Bad things happened. She was usually a good judge of people, and she felt she could trust this brave little woman. At least, for the moment, she would give her the benefit of the doubt.
‘They never even paid the rent!’ Dolly told her. ‘Three weeks was owing, and I didn’t have the money so . . .’ She shrugged, almost spilling what was left of her tea. ‘So I had to get out. And I thought, this is all wrong! About my husband, I mean. It can’t be true . . . Although Don’s not been back and that’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think? And that rotten Sidney took the ring and didn’t bring it back and the sergeant said I could be arrested for wearing a ring that was stolen property!’
Lydia was revising her opinion. This sounded too complicated to be a pretence. And somewhere in Dolly’s story she vaguely sensed there were unfathomable, uncomfortable echoes with her own situation. She stared at Dolly, frowning and listening intently.
‘Who are these other two men?’ she asked at last.
‘One’s his brother Sid. The other’s the reverend who married us. His name’s Willis Burke. They reckon he drove the getaway car after the robbery.’ Seeing the expression on Lydia’s face, Dolly nodded. ‘Yes. He’s the reverend – the man who married me and Don . . . but the police reckon he was a fraud and me and Don aren’t properly wed after all – although the captains of ships can marry people and so can the blacksmith at Gretna Green so why can’t Mr Burke? He was a really nice man, and he gave me some violets and . . . everything.’
‘So are you going back to live with your mother?’
‘No. I hate her. She’s the one went round to the police about my wedding and got poor Mr Burke into trouble.’
‘I expect she was trying to help you, wasn’t she? To stop him from cheating you.’
‘You don’t know her like I do. She’s always hated poor Don, and she was trying to get at him. To prove she was right! If she thinks I’m going to go crawling back she’s—’ She stopped suddenly, peering past Lydia. ‘Is that your wedding?’
‘Yes.’ Lydia handed her the photograph in its silver frame.
Dolly smiled. ‘Pretty dress! What colour was it?’
‘A pale violet with pale-brown lace collar and cuffs.’
‘Lovely!’ She smiled. ‘You’d look nice in violet. I had a cream skirt and jacket with those leg of mutton sleeves. I looked a treat with a white straw hat, although I say so meself. My ma always says you shouldn’t blow your own trumpet! I wish I’d had a photo taken, but Don said we couldn’t because it was a very private ceremony.’ She studied the photograph, particularly the groom. ‘I like your husband. He reminds me a lot of Don. Nice and tall. I like tall men. I know short men are nice, too, but I like to look up at Don. I used to think of him as my tall, dark stranger, although he wasn’t a stranger. We grew up on opposite sides of the street!’
She handed back the photograph, and as she did so her face fell. ‘The police said he hit a man and the man died and that makes Don a sort of murderer, even though he didn’t mean it. That’s why he’s disappeared and I want him to come back but then they’ll catch him and might hang him so in a way I have to hope he doesn’t.’ She put a hand over her belly. ‘How could he run off without even waiting to see his baby? It’s not natural.’ Her eyes suddenly misted over. ‘He should have taken us with him!’
Adam had followed the kitten into the kitchen, but now he returned. ‘Where’s Grandpapa?’ he asked.
‘He’s in the garden.’
‘No he isn’t. I looked.’
There was a brief pause before his words registered, and then Lydia sprang to her feet with a cry of alarm. ‘Run upstairs, Adam, and see if he’s there!’ She rushed to the front door and glanced up and down the road. There was no sign of her father.
Dolly had followed her to the front door as Lydia turned.
‘He’s wandered off again!’ she cried. ‘Oh Lord! It’s my own fault. I got distracted and forgot to keep an eye on him.’
Adam came downstairs shaking his head. ‘He’s not there, Mama.’
‘And you looked in the bathroom and the bedrooms?’
‘Yes, but he’s not there.’
‘Then I’ll have to go after him.’ Confused and beginning to panic, she looked at Dolly. Every moment she hesitated would take her father further from her and into possible danger. ‘Can you wait here until I get back? I can go faster without Adam.’ She turned to her son. ‘Will you wait here with Auntie Dolly?’
He nodded.
Dolly smiled at him. ‘I know a story about a teddy bear and a kitten called Sooty. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Ooh yes!’ He checked himself. ‘I mean, yes please!’
‘Come along then, Adam. There’s plenty of room on my lap.’ She winked at Lydia. ‘He can share the space with my young’un!’
Lydia hesita
ted, weighing up her options. Dolly would take care of him, she decided, and Adam had taken to her. John would have a fit if he knew she was leaving their son with someone she hardly knew – but then John had abruptly disappeared from their lives with little or no explanation, leaving her with sole responsibility. He was in no position to criticize her decision, she told herself firmly.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ she promised, and without bothering with a jacket she closed the front door behind her and, turning right in case her father was heading for the paper shop, she began to run along the road.
Adam watched his mother leave with obvious trepidation, but Dolly’s story soon caught his imagination and he listened enthralled.
‘. . . So the teddy bear said to himself, “I’m going to run away into the big wide world and see all the birds and animals” . . .’
‘And the cows?’ Adam added helpfully.
‘And the cows and pigs and . . .’
‘And the dogs?’
‘Oh yes! The dogs, too. We mustn’t forget them, must we? And the kittens . . .’
Dolly watched the little boy’s face and tried to imagine that this was her own son and that everything was all right again and Don would be home for his supper of mutton stew and dumplings which she had cooked for them and then . . .
‘What about white mice, Auntie Dolly?’
‘Oh yes! Clever boy! How could I forget them?’
The story trailed on and on, held up by a multitude of interruptions, and Dolly’s concentration wavered. She picked up the photograph of Lydia’s wedding and stared at the husband. The mysterious John Daye who was not a spy but something very like a spy . . . The likeness was astonishing, she thought. He could be Don’s long lost brother! Her mouth twisted a little, and she sighed enviously. He and Lydia had obviously had a proper wedding.
‘Auntie Dolly!’ Adam prompted.
‘Sorry, dear. I was looking at your ma and pa’s wedding picture.’
‘Papa has gone away and we don’t know where he is but when he does come back he’ll bring me a present but I mustn’t ask about him any more because it makes Mama cry.’
‘Oh dear! Poor Mama!’ Dolly felt a rush of solidarity with the unfortunate Lydia Daye, but then an idea entered her head which was so monstrous that it made her voice falter and her head swim. Desperate and fearful, Dolly tried to hold out against the suspicion, but finally, cold with shock, she surrendered to the hateful possibility. Adam’s father and the father of her unborn child could be one and the same. Was it . . .? She began to shake her head. No, she thought. I won’t even think it . . . but somehow she was going to have to put the idea to Lydia.
‘Auntie Dolly?’
‘Yes, dear?’ She looked down into his innocent eyes and saw the bleak future for all of them.
‘What happens next?’
What indeed?
By the time Lydia reached the paper shop the full extent of her troubles had dawned on her also, and she was in no state to argue the finer points with her father and another man who were arguing heatedly over who had reached first for the last copy of The Times. Mr Wright was trying to calm matters, but a Mr Williams was insisting that Lydia’s father had snatched the paper from him and George was denying it, insisting that Mr Williams was a cad and ought to be ashamed of himself.
Several other customers were watching the argument with interest, and an urchin child was taking his chance to fill his pockets with sweets before slipping out of the shop.
Without bothering about the niceties, Lydia snatched the paper from her father, handed it back to Mr Williams and dragged her father out of the shop on to the pavement.
‘Don’t look at me like that!’ she told him through gritted teeth. ‘And forget about The Times! We have trouble with a capital T, Father, so not another word. You are coming home with me. Now!’
To her relief he did not argue, but allowed himself to be led along with only a brief backward glance. He had been enjoying the little scrap, but Lydia was Lydia and would never understand the workings of a man’s heart. Mr Williams was an obnoxious little squealer, with his fancy tweed suit and silly little spectacles, and George had longed to thwack him around the shoulders with the rolled up Times.
After a couple of hundred yards George stopped abruptly. ‘So what has happened?’ he asked. ‘Why are you behaving like a shrew?’
She faced him with an expression he could not read but which sent a shiver down his spine. Trouble with a capital T. That was what she had said.
‘If you think I am going to tell you in the middle of the street,’ she began hotly, grabbing his arm, ‘you’re wrong!’
He looked into her white face and saw the strain in her eyes and felt the first stirring of deeper unease. ‘I am not going a step further until I know what has happened,’ he told her, ‘and if you try to drag me home people will think you’re kidnapping me!’
For a moment they stared at each other, and then Lydia said, ‘When I tell you, you’ll wish you were at home.’
‘So be it!’
She hesitated as a woman walked past pushing a pram, then she said simply, ‘I think Don has betrayed me . . . with another woman.’
George drew in a sharp breath and struggled to remain focused. He said shakily, ‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’
‘Dolly Wickham!’
He nodded.
‘And if I’m right then, Father . . . he is wanted by the police.’
A child ran past with a hoop.
She said, ‘For theft and . . . for assaulting someone who has died from the injuries.’
‘He could hang!’
‘Oh God!’
‘When did you find out all this, Lydia?’
‘I think it was beginning to dawn on me when Dolly was looking so closely at our wedding photograph, and I realized that if the letters I sent to her home were read and answered then John must have been there and . . . and her husband goes away when mine goes away and . . . and the rings and the pearls . . . It was Glazers, the jeweller’s, you see!’ She drew a long, painful breath. ‘What do you think, Father? Am I right? Could this really be happening?’
George put an arm round her waist, and she slumped against him. He asked, ‘Did she know? Dolly Wickham – did she know he was already married?’
‘I think not.’
‘So he has betrayed her, too. Poor woman.’ He tightened his arm round her as a young man walked towards them.
Sensing a possible problem the man paused, hesitating, regarding them suspiciously. Then to Lydia he said, ‘You all right, miss? This man annoying you, is he?’
‘No, no! Thank you for asking, but he’s my father.’
George said stiffly, ‘My daughter is feeling unwell. A little faint. I’ll be taking her home as soon as she feels able to walk.’
If I ever do, Lydia thought with a touch of hysteria. I may never feel able to do anything ever again! This might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back!
The young man looked from George to Lydia with an unspoken question. Lydia forced a smile. ‘It’s true. He is my father. I’m in no trouble.’ But that was a lie, she thought. She was in very serious trouble, but her father was not the problem – her husband was. ‘But I appreciate your concern,’ she added.
He gave a brief nod, touched the brim of his hat, said, ‘Then I hope you feel better soon,’ and walked on.
Silently, they watched him go. He turned back to give them a final cursory glance, then continued on his way, apparently satisfied.
George returned at once to their discussion. ‘Are you going to tell Dolly Wickham? It will be a terrible shock for her, especially in her condition.’
Carefully, Lydia eased herself upright, taking her weight on her own two feet and finding that she was just about in control. ‘We’ll have to talk,’ she said, ‘but she’s not stupid. She was looking very closely at my wedding photograph, and I suspect that, like me, she’s already put two and two together.’
Geor
ge tucked her arm in his, and they moved slowly in the direction of home. Still shocked by her recent discovery her steps faltered, and she felt like a hospital patient who has been given less than a month to live.
George said grimly, ‘I’d like to get my hands on that bounder. I’d wring his damned neck with my bare hands!’
‘He’s Adam’s father, remember.’ She made the protest from habit.
‘I don’t care who or what he is!’ George replied hotly. ‘So don’t let yourself pity him, Liddy, and don’t make excuses for him. You have to face facts, and you might as well start now. John Daye is an out and out bounder!’
‘But he’s still my husband.’
‘More’s the pity! Don’t expect me to make allowances for him because I won’t listen. We have to face a dreadful truth. John Daye has ruined our lives, and I want him to pay for it. Hanging would be too good for him!’
Twelve
As they approached the front door it was opened by Dolly and an excited Adam who immediately began to tell Lydia all about Sooty and the teddy bear, but after she had kissed him she suggested that George and Adam went into the front room.
‘You can do a puzzle,’ she told them, ‘while I talk with Auntie Dolly in the kitchen.’
Once in the kitchen she closed the door, took a deep breath and faced her visitor.
Dolly, pale with a spot of colour on each cheek, held up her hand. ‘You don’t need to say it,’ she said. ‘I know! I’ve worked it out. I know about my husband and yours.’
‘They’re one and the same!’
‘Yes. Two sides of the coin.’
‘It’s unbelievable, but . . .’ Lydia shook her head. ‘There is no other explanation.’
‘I don’t know what to feel,’ said Dolly. ‘It doesn’t feel real. How could he do this?’
‘I know. I love John and hate him at the same time.’
The Great Betrayal Page 17